Karma Prevails Again
2003-09-18, 9:47 a.m.

Last night at work, a woman who does a driving route for the company from Cleveland to Akron was chatting us up as they were picking up the evening's load, when she mentioned that the traffic heading toward Akron would probably be bad last night. When asked why, she said, "'cause of the Toby Keith concert, a'course."

I blinked.

I'd heard of Mr. Keith, a country singer, though only through osmosis; I couldn't (nor would I want to) name a song of his to save my life (though I'm sure that, if held by a would-be Country Music Appreciation Association assassination squad, were I to jump up and yell, "I hate the fuckin' Towelheads!!" I'm sure they'd not only let me go, but also invite me to the local waterin' hole for a br [read: beer]), but I've heard the name at least.

So I said, "He's not one of those guys who did a Pro-War Yay-America Hate Songs, is he?" I don't think she heard me properly, because when Ben, my Hell Shift Supervisor said, "I've never heard of him," she responded with, "well, you've probably heard 'Angry American', haven't you?"

So I piped up, much unlike my normal non-confrontational self, and said, "Ah yes, one of those Pro-War Yay-American Hate songs. Gotta love 'em."

Strangely enough, the topic was dropped rather suddenly. So the evening went on as normal and luckily no ideological or political discussions popped up, cos I didn't have time to deal with it.

Later on, I was walking past the Brand-Name-Cola machine and, as a habit, double-tapped the side of it as I was going by.

About James:

I'm inherently rhythmic, being the son of a drummer and genetically disposed (not to mention often falling asleep as a child to band practise in the garage or basement), so tapping on things has become something of an unconscious habit. Combine that with being a figdeter, and you've got quite a lot of backbeat happenin'. Plus, I think that constant contact with things in my immediate environment helps compensate for my otherwise poor eyesight. Strong-prescription glasses do alter your perspective a bit. Heck, at the edge of my lenses, light breaks down to its component parts. My Glasses, My Prisim.

Anyway, what should I hear after this jostling of the machine, but a clink of a coin. So I push the change return button and into the change tray falls a nickel.

So the way I see it, the Universe paid me a nickel to shoot a hole in someone's view of an idiot country singer.

If I had a nickel for every time I had to do that...

By the way-- to cleanse the taint of having even linked to the lyrics of that abominable song, I present to you this alternate version.

-- End Transmission --